


A Subtler Sort of Curse

by MissWoodhouse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (there are just enough F-bombs for this fic to be PG-13 and not R), A Memior, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Is Voldemort In My Head Or Is It Just A Migraine?, Rated T for Language and Potter-Teen Angst, Subpar Wizarding Medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22110835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWoodhouse/pseuds/MissWoodhouse
Summary: The first time Albus feels like his forehead is splitting open, he is fifteen.Or, Diagnoses are hard, perhaps moreso when you're a wizard.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	A Subtler Sort of Curse

The first time Albus feels like his forehead is splitting open, he is fifteen.

He is home for the summer, after the year that shall not be discussed, and James and Lily are making a racket in the living room, while his mum is banging away with pots and pans in the kitchen. The noise gets more and more annoying, until suddenly the cacophony feels like it’s exploding out from his own skull, and Albus finds himself bent double, clutching his forehead, and whimpering in pain.

Mum fetches him a pain potion and then sends him to lie down – it doesn’t help much, but the sun sets, and the room gets dark, and eventually, he falls asleep.

In the morning, his headache is gone, but he feels groggy all day. Mum makes him chicken soup, and they all decide he must have some sort of a cold.

\---

The next time it happens, they’re having a big family picnic at the Burrow – it’s always a picnic in the summer, because they can never really fit everyone comfortably inside the house. The sky’s been getting darker, and everyone’s worried it’s going to rain, so when Albus tells his mum he’s got a headache, Aunt Hermione just says, “It must be the weather change.” And Aunt Hermione knows everything, so everyone accepts it as a fact.

\---

The third time it happens, Teddy is over, and he’s showing James some trick he learned to make the lights flash different colors, like they do at the muggle clubs he and his friends go dancing at because “the muggles do music so much better.” Albus doesn’t know much about music, but he’s pretty sure he disagrees with the muggles’ lighting choices. The pulsing lights are making the whole room go sort of dizzy, and before he knows it, he’s on the floor again and the dizzy isn’t going away even as the lights finally stop.

James starts to tease him, but Teddy gets one good look at Albus’ pale-as-a-ghost face and tells him to give it a rest. Before he knows it, mum and dad are there, and Albus is being bundled off to Saint Mungos and poked and prodded and waved over for all sorts of tests.

The healers don’t find anything, and Dad – who is, understandably, not taking it very well – yells at them to look harder and insists on bringing in Uncle Bill, who used to be a curse breaker before he settled down to get married and have kids with Aunt Fleur, to take a look as well. Dad is convinced it has something to do with the time turner and the dark lord, and the incident of which they do not speak.

They don’t find anything, not even Uncle Bill or the most specialized of specialists they can pull together through the combined power of the Minister of Magic, the Boy Who Lived, and the entire Weasley clan.

That’s when Dad becomes convinced that Albus must be faking it. Or maybe not faking it – Mum yelled at Dad when he said that, but Albus is convinced it’s still probably what he really thinks – but at the very least that its all in his head. Which seems like sort of a silly thing to say considering just who Mum and Dad both had in their heads back when they were in school. But that’s exactly what all the healers and curse breakers and what-not were meant to have ruled out.

The healers say he should rest and relax for the rest of the summer, but that since there really isn’t anything wrong, there’s no reason he can’t go back to school on the first of September. Albus doesn’t protest because secretly, he thinks that’s likely to be more relaxing than staying at home with Mum fussing and Dad fuming.

Somehow, when Dad says “Don’t scare us like that again,” before putting Albus on the train, it comes out sounding less like a goodbye and more like a threat.

\---

Albus gets headaches all the time now, he just doesn’t really like to say. He thinks about telling Scorpius, because Scorpius is bound to notice sometime, and there isn’t really much left to be secret between them after everything that happened last year. But then he thinks that Scorpius would probably fuss even worse than Mum did at first, before his headaches became the new normal, and he decides maybe he should hold off on telling his best friend for now.

Sometimes, Albus wonders if maybe his headaches are like his dad’s were, and that maybe Voldemort did something untraceable to him that night in Godric’s Hollow, and that maybe that means Delphi succeeded and there is a way for him to come back again after all. And then he wonders again if he should tell someone, but if it were true that would make everything his fault again, and he’d really rather pretend that’s not the case.

\---

So fifth year is shaping up to be less than stellar, what with the headaches and his OWLs, and James subtly hinting that maybe he’s being a hypochondriac in order to try and get out of sitting his exams. And honestly, that might be the best idea he’s ever heard, because some days, it feels like his brain can’t remember how to think. He’ll be reading, working on an essay, and suddenly the words start dancing around the page – the lines of text criss-crossing each other down the center. If he focuses hard enough, they’ll stay still, but then by the time he gets to the end of a sentence, he’s forgotten the start.

And Albus is angry, like all the time, and he doesn’t know why. He’ll be having a perfectly fine time, laughing about something with Scorpius, and suddenly the tiniest little things start to frustrate him and before he knows it, he’s pissed off, and all he wants to do is go curl up in bed with his curtains drawn and ignore the world. And then, inevitably, he gets a headache.

Potions is the worst for it, and not just because of all the creepy pickled animal bits lined up in jars on the shelves. It’s the smells that really get to Albus. Fumes or whatever wafting up from the cauldrons class after class. Really, it’s a wonder they haven’t all poisoned themselves breathing in the results of someone or other’s potions disaster – Albus’ as often as anyone else, if he’s being honest. Potions and Divination, where – if reminders about prophecy and last year weren’t bad enough – it always smells of incense, and the lights are dim, and Albus is nearly always woozy by the end of class.

Eventually – inevitably – he goes down. Sometime in the eternal stretch between the Christmas holiday (too many people, too much noise, and nowhere to hide away from it all) and the Easter one, Albus just collapses on his way out of the Divination classroom. He could swear he only blinked for an instant, but suddenly everyone is surrounding him, a mixture of concerned faces, panic, and utter glee. Scorpius looks paler than ever and Trelawney’s eyes are bugging out further than usual as she mutters about trances and prophecy. Someone is rushing for Madam Pomfrey, someone else for the smelling salts, and Albus swears he hears the words “Rita Skeeter. If only…camera…quite a…profit” being muttered amongst the group in he corner.

Thank Merlin they have class with the Hufflepuffs, though, because Susan Campbell, a no-nonsense muggle-born whose mother is a doctor of some kind, swoops in and takes charge, sending everyone but Scorpius downstairs and out of the room. No – not quite everyone, someone else in a Hufflepuff tie is going around extinguishing incense and opening up windows to let in beautiful, fresh, clean air. Albus takes in a deep breath and when he exhales, it’s as if all his energy has left him for the quiet-vacuum-nothingness of the room. And, excitement over, a headache settles in for the long haul.

“How’re you doing?” Susan asks, and Albus can only shrug, and shake his head.

“Can you breathe alright?”

Albus nods, just a fraction.

“Anything hurt?”

He nods again.

“Where?”

“Head.”

“Dizzy?”

He nods.

“Alright. Did the dizzy start before or after you went down?”

“First,” says Albus. Even a two-syllable word like ‘before’ feels like too much effort.

“Okay,” says Susan, “when did it start?”

“Months ago,” says Albus.

“Months!” Scorpius is alarmed. “Albus, why didn’t you tell me?”

Susan stays calm, though. “All the time, or?”

Albus shakes his head. “No. But lots.”

“Headaches, or dizzy, or…?”

“Both. Went to Mungos in the summer. ‘s nothing.”

“Albus,” says Scorpius, “that’s…this doesn’t look like nothing.”

“But it is,” says Albus. “They think it’s all in my head. Like Dad with Voldemort, ‘cept not. So must just be me.”

Pomfrey shows up then, and generally concurs with the Mungo’s, although she does keep Albus overnight in the hospital wing for observation. After looking through his Mungo’s file, she won’t give him more than the mildest of pain potions – the sort you’d usually give to an underweight eleven year-old – and it predictably does nothing to help.

\---

A few days later, Albus is in the Great Hall for breakfast, still feeling a bit peaky when Susan walks over.

“Listen, Albus, I know it’s none of my business, but if Mungo’s and Pomfrey can’t help you…” she trails off a bit and hands him a printed card. “My mum’s a GP, so I wrote to her, and…well, if you wanted to try seeing a muggle about it…”

“I don’t know,” says Albus, looking down, “I don’t think…”

Scorpius takes the card from him, and Susan’s eyes go sharp.

“Don’t let Malfoy pressure you out of going. Frankly, I think the state of wizarding healthcare is abominable, and muggles are much more advanced than _some wizards_ will have you believe."

“He’ll go all right,” says Scorpius, only wasting a tiny bit of energy on correcting Susan’s assumptions about himself. “My dad will bring us, even if yours won’t, Albus.”

\---

They’re in charms, with the Ravenclaws, and Albus isn’t entirely sure what spell they’re practicing today, but it's very loud. Scorpius is fretting, as usual – and this is why Albus didn’t want to tell him anything – and Albus winds up slumping with his head to the desk and his arms up over his ears. It doesn’t do much to help the noise, but it isn’t like Albus has the energy to do anything else.

Someone in the row behind starts poking him with a wand.

“Albus.” He shrugs off a poke between his shoulder blades. “Albus?” Another poke. “Albus Potter, for the love of Merlin, do you want my help or not?”

Albus sits up, groggy and confused. “Wha?” he mumbles, “Didn’t ask for help.”

“I know,” laughs the girl who’s been poking him. A Ravenclaw, and he knows her name – he swears – but it isn’t coming to him, “But you looked like you could use one of these.”

She shakes a small white pill out of a bottle, holding it out to him, and Albus, who admittedly isn’t thinking very straight, takes it.

“Thanks,” he says, staring at it blankly.

“For the headache,” she clarifies, and well, Albus isn’t going to argue with that.

Scorpius, on the other hand, is a little less trusting. He doesn’t realize Albus is actually going to take it until the pill’s been swallowed.

“Albus, what the _fuck_?” Albus just sort of shrugs, “Albus, you can’t just take drugs from people, I mean, Merlin – ” He turns to the Ravenclaw, Alice something or other, “The _fuck_ did you give him?” and then back to Albus, without bothering to wait for her response. “You really think now is a good time to be experimenting with drugs?”

“Look,” says Alice. “I don’t know what you get up to in the Slytherin common room, but it’s just an Anadin.”

That doesn’t seem to reassure Scorpius. “Which is?”

“Muggle pain meds? Mum says wizards were absolute _pants_ at migraines when she was in school, so she gave me a package, just in case.”

“Wha’s a migraine?” asks Albus, because even through the headache haze, this sounds important.

\---

Well, now they have a name for it. And the Anadin definitely helps. He asks Alice for a pill almost every time he sees her, until eventually she gives him the bottle and writes home for another one.

The problem is, the headaches just keep coming and coming, and eventually he has to ask Alice for another bottle.

“But it was practically full,” she tells him.

“I get a lot of those mee-grin thing-ies.”

“Migraines, Albus. And you aren’t supposed to take one every day!”

“How was I supposed to know that?”

“Albus!”

“What?”

“Didn’t you read the bottle?” Albus shrugs, and she sighs, “I’m starting to understand where Scorpius was coming from.” He makes a rather pathetic-looking face (all his faces have been looking rather pathetic of late), and she sighs again. “Fine. You can have a few few more to last until the holidays, but I’m giving them to Scorpius – you’ll have to go through him – and you’ve got promise you’ll see someone next time you’re home.”

\---

Susan’s mum isn’t actually a headache specialist – a neuro-something or other – but she puts in a good word with one of her colleagues. Somehow, in a series of letters between her and Mr. Malfoy, they sort out something or other so he can access something else called the NHS. But the muggle doctor he winds up talking to is still exceedingly puzzled by Albus’s lack of any sort of muggle medical record.

In fact, the muggle doctor is exceedingly puzzled by quite a lot, which doesn’t bode well. He keeps putting the headaches down to O Level stress (Albus assumes this is some vague muggle equivalent to OWLs) and says he doesn’t want to go about prescribing pills to teenagers right before a big exam – come see him in the summer. He also goes off on Albus for all the Anadin he’s been taking – apparently it causes something related to rebounds – and he _also_ won’t write Albus any prescriptions until he’s been off the pain meds for a few weeks. Also no coffee, for some reason – which Albus doesn’t drink anyway – or tea, unless its herbal – which Albus always thought was supposed to make everything feel better.

All in all, it’s much the same as a trip to Pomfrey or Mungo’s: Disappointing.

Albus is glad he didn’t tell his parents about the trip.

\---

Afterwards, he goes to the Malfoy’s. He’s sleeping over with Scorpius partly as cover for their trip to the doctor, and partly because Scorpius’ house is just so much _quieter_ than his.

And, he supposes, because he likes spending time with Scorpius as well. Only right now he doesn’t feel much like socializing.

Albus goes and finds a nice – dark, quiet – corner to cry. A house elf comes to check on him once, but sees Albus wince at the crack of apparition, and quietly sneaks away, leaving him undisturbed for the rest of the evening.

He’s expecting Scorpius to come find him, drag him to dinner, and insist he at least try to eat something. Instead, it’s Mr. Malfoy.

Mr. Malfoy doesn’t drag him in to dinner. He doesn’t hover about Albus’ food intake or call him rude for not joining them at the table. Instead, Mr. Malfoy invites Albus into his study, for a chat.

Which is, perhaps, among the scariest sentences anyone could say to a fifteen year old, ever, but Albus figures Mr. Malfoy probably means well. Hopefully.

Mr. Malfoy thinks Albus should tell his parents about the my-grains, and maybe take some time off school before OWLs. Mr. Malfoy thinks Albus should see another doctor because, “Some healers are quacks, some aren’t. I assume the same holds true for the muggles.” Mr. Malfoy thinks if Albus won’t agree to telling his parents, he should at least tell Aunt Hermione.

“But Aunt Hermione _will_ tell my parents.”

“Yes,” says Mr. Malfoy, “but she’ll believe you first. And she might even help us get you to another doctor _before_ we tell your parents.”

Reluctantly, faced with the depressing alternative prospects of either telling his parents now or telling them after he gets Trolls on all his OWLs, Albus agrees.

\---

Aunt Hermione – who does, vaguely, recognize the word migraine – absolutely lights up when Mr. Malfoy says the words, “In some cases, muggle medicine may be superior to wizarding.” In fact, she pauses the conversation, makes him repeat the sentence, and then rushes off to bottle up the memory for her pensieve. Okay, that last part is a lie, but she totally jokes about it (and Albus thinks she might actually do it, as soon as Mr. Malfoy leaves the room).

She also gives Albus a big hug, and a bit of an apology for not figuring it out and helping him sooner.

Being minister of magic evidently does have some perks – and maybe so does being the daughter of dentists – because within a few days, she’s got appointments lined up for him with “all the best Harley Street Doctors,” whatever that means. Alice’s half-blood mum hasn’t actually got a special headache doctor, but some muggle-born ministry man called Finch-Fletchly has got a brother who’s a fancy specialist of another kind, and _he_ knows a squib who actually is a neuro-whatsit _and_ knows about magic.

Aunt Hermione has a whole list of recommendations who don’t know about magic to work through too, if the squib doesn’t pan out. Never let it be said that Aunt Hermione was less than thorough.

No, seriously – never say it, because she will know, and she will find you, and she will lecture you to death about how reading _Hogwarts a History_ several times over from cover to cover saved her life on numerous occasions, young man, so don’t you start.

Anyway, Aunt Hermione is a bit of a wonder, and so is Dr. Relf. She listens to Albus, and treats him like an adult rather than talking over his head like he’s a misbehaving child. She gives him new pills that his _is_ supposed to take every day, although she says they won’t start working for a bit, and they might need to change them – apparently there’s supposed to stop the headaches from happening in the first place, which Albus was beginning to doubt was even possible. And she gives him a very small bottle of emergency pills to take if a headache gets really bad, and looks him in the eyes and makes him promise he won’t take more than one or two a week. And she somehow arranges for everything to be delivered via owl order, as long as he comes to see her again when he’s home from school.

\---

And, nothing changes overnight, but also it sort of does?

Albus still has headaches sometimes, and it takes awhile tinkering with the meds to get to where he’s at, but –

From the second he walks out of Dr. Relf’s office, it’s like it’s finally real. Everything he’s being saying (and not saying) for months – and someone finally believed him. Someone with a certificate on their wall who isn’t a friend or a family member looked at him and said, yes, you really are hurting. And there’s something we can do about that.

And sometimes, that feels like the most important part of all.

**Author's Note:**

> For many years, my mental image of migraines was Harry Potter, rolling on the divination classroom floor, clutching at his scar after a Voldemort vision. This turned out to be less than helpful, because my migraines look absolutely nothing like that. But the image has always stuck with me all the same.
> 
> Somehow that turned into a fic about the difficulty of getting a migraine diagnosis and treatment. Although I have to say, it took me quite a few more muggle doctors than Albus to get there.
> 
> Please note: I touched on a couple of common migraine triggers and symptoms, but every person's migraines are different.


End file.
